


Your Turn

by gaialux



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: spnkink_meme, Established Relationship, M/M, Switching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-17
Updated: 2013-06-17
Packaged: 2017-12-15 06:25:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/846338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaialux/pseuds/gaialux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Its been three days now, and Sam may be physically recovering, but he's not all there yet. Dean knows his brother doesn't trust him, and sets out to find a way to change this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Turn

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a kink prompt: Sam is still feeling insecure after their little heart-to-heart at the end of the season finale, and Dean, never one to be good with words, decides there is only one way to appease him - to let Sam top him for the first, and only, time in incredibly schmoopy love-making.
> 
> Supernatural does not belong to me. This piece of fiction was written for entertainment purposes only, no profit is gained.

It’s been three days. Three days since the angels fell, three days since Sam and Dean drove from the church, and three days since Sam said everything. They’ve been at the Men of Letters Headquarters since then, Sam asleep on the bed and Dean not leaving the bunker once. He just checks on Sam constantly, tries to make him eat Dad’s cure-all, and reads through book after book on fallen angels. He’s not a fast reader, but three days and he’s exhausted the main texts. Needs his geeky research boy up and at'em to keep it going.

“Sam.” Dean gently hits his brother’s foot before moving to sit at the side of the bed closer to his face, brushes a hand over messy hair and Sam’s eyes slowly return to the world. “How you feelin’?”

Sam smiles at him, shifts closer. “Same as the first time you asked - I’m fine.”

“Oh, right - bleeding out on the back seat of the impala you were totally fine.”

“Well, maybe the first time...” Sam’s got a sheepish smile on his face and leans up to kiss Dean. Dean accepts it, just a soft motion of lips, before he gently pushes his brother back onto the bed.

“Sleep - and eat now.” He places the sandwich he brought in down on the bedside table. “Hardly had anything over the last few days, Sasquatch. Be skin and bones soon.”

“See your nesting phase is still in full force.” Sheepish grin gone, Sam’s just got a smart-ass glint in his eye.

“Shut up and eat your sandwich.”

He sits up and Dean just knows he’s making a show of leaning across Dean to take the plate, brushing up against him before pressing back into the pillows. He pulls off the top piece of bread and scrunches up his nose. “And what is in this experiment?”

“Ham, cheese, lettuce.” He stands. “Just eat.”

Sam gives a mock salute, Dean sends him a withering look and turns to leave. He’s sure there’s something to do out there...dishes to wash, book indexes to scrutinise, a gun collection to clean...and he just has to keep himself busy, make Sam stop thinking he’s deliberately keeping tabs on him.

“Dean --”

It sounds uncertain, and Dean turns with his fingers about the clasp the door handle. “Yeah?”

Sam puts the plate onto the bed and stretches, one hand going to scratch the back of his neck. “About what I said, at the church --”

Dean raises a hand palm upward, shakes his head. “We worked it out, okay?”

He watches Sam’s eyes furrow, head cocks just that little bit to the side, and he looks like he’s about to say something. Then, just as quickly, Sam’s jaw tightens and he goes back to the food. “Yeah, okay.”

Dean turns but hesitates at the door again. There’s something more there and he knows it, only he’s not sure why he’s just willing to leave it, to let it drop. Being selfish all over again when, at this point in time, that just shouldn’t be happening. He sighs and looks back to his brother. 

“What is it, Sam?”

Sam shakes his head. “Nothing. Thanks for the sandwich.” There’s a pause, Dean stares at him. Sam clears his throat. “And...everything. Seriously, man - just everything, ever. Thank you.”

Dean moves across the room, eyes on Sam, and he’s trying to read him. Used to be able to, easily, could tell what Sam was thinking and feeling maybe before even Sam did. But this year...it’s getting harder and harder, and Dean just wants to understand. More than anything, he wants to understand.

“Spit it out, Sam.”

Sam says nothing, so Dean continues across the room and sits on the bed again, body facing Sam. And he waits because he knows, sooner or later, his brother’s going to have to say something. Of course he is, he always does. 

Not this time. 

Sam isn’t even looking at him. His fingers pick at the white sheets and Dean’s starting to think he might just be invisible right at this very moment.

“Sam, tell me.”

Sam clears his throat but doesn’t look up. “Just, all those times I let you down...”

Dean can’t stop the incredulous look he’s sure is on his face. “Oh, jeez, Sam --” He reaches across the bed, hooks an arm around Sam’s neck and pulls him closer. “I already told you, forget about it.”

Sam almost rips himself from Dean’s grasp, but Dean holds on. “I can’t just  forget  about it.”

“No, I didn’t mean that --”

“Didn’t have to...” Sam’s voice has dropped, he’s only half looking at Dean through a curtain of hair, “I see it.”

“What are you talking about?” And Dean’s lost, he’s got no idea. Came in here expecting to get Sam eating again and now he’s sitting on the bed, hand hooked through the back of his brother’s hair, and more confused than he has been in a long while.

“Just...the way you look at me. Like I’m gonna run away or something...”

The hand he has on the back of Sam’s neck clenches, pulling him closer without really meaning to. Only he doesn’t want to let go. Their foreheads press together and Dean just closes his eyes to the touch. This is okay. This is how he can forget what Sam’s gone through, that Sam’s hurting. He can just forget all of it.

He finds Sam’s lips with eyes still closed, pressing, urging Sam to relent and he does, tongue slipping between and Dean lets himself relax, feeling Sam follow. They fall back against the bed, Dean’s against Sam, but he’s careful. Avoids pressing too hard, avoids his hand, and rests most of his weight on his left elbow - off Sam’s body. Sam...he seems to have other ideas, always does. Hooks an arm around Dean’s back and pulls him, all of him, down. Their bodies pressed hard into the bed.

“Been weeks,” Sam’s mumbling into Dean’s mouth.

Dean moves away, looks down at his brother and practically  hovers  above him, licking lips and letting hips grind down just that little bit. “You weren’t exactly in peak physical condition.”

His hands twist in Dean’s shirt and pulls him back down. “You always look after me.”

Their lips close together again and Dean moves a hand to their chests, pulling at Sam’s shirt and ripping it over his head, their kissing only stopped for a split second to do this before Dean resumes it. His hands moving up to cup Sam’s face, fingers enveloping across Sam and just holding, keeping him right there so he can’t get away.

Because Sam’s right. He hates to admit it, but Sam’s right. Dean’s terrified he’s about to run away. He pushes that feeling down, away, runs his fingers toward Sam’s naked back and he’s careful, always careful, to not leave marks.Even if he knows Sam doesn’t care, wants any and all of it. Sam’s got a hang tugging Dean’s shirt and Dean’s happy to follow through with Sam’s request, fabric moving from his chest and being thrown somewhere onto the floor where Dean’s slowly letting it collect with other clothes and the sheets he keeps putting off washing.

“You su--”

“I’m  fine .” It’s almost a growl from the back of his throat.

Dean knows better than to keep pushing. Instead, kissing is easier. Holding himself against Sam is  easier . Those three days, it’s like a pent up pain swelling in his chest, like he’s been holding his breath. And here, now, he’s finally letting it all go, held against his brother. Only he’s not wanting to do that. Not about him. Not about whatever shit he’s holding down, trying to forget, letting consume him. It’s about  Sam . It’s always been about Sam.

It’s forceful but careful, Dean bringing Sam over so their positions are shifted - Sam now pressing down against him and Dean can finally let his fingers toy over the whole of Sam’s broad back. Always loved this feeling, Sam’s weight against him and his cock pressing against too many layers of clothing, but it never happened enough. Mostly because Dean didn’t let it.

Not this time.

He keeps Sam against him, pulls him as close as physical space allows. He works a hand between them and down goes Sam’s sweats and boxer-briefs, pushed away with several awkward leg movements that leave Dean grinning into his brother’s mouth and deciding there’s still some normality in all of this. Still attuned with each other - always will be. Like how he doesn’t have to even look as he reaches a hand toward the bedside drawer. First one they’ve ever had, and Dean stocks it. Perfect. Led Sam to just laugh, bury condoms further back so they’d never see the light of day, and demand Dean fuck him. Of course Dean obliged. Wasn’t their first time, but it was one of their best.

He doesn’t exactly know what to say...never really has...but Dean takes the bottle in his hands - eyes still partly closed, lips still roaming over Sam’s - and presses it into Sam’s, fingers curling over fingers and holding. The lips stop.

“What’re you doing?” Sam’s words are warm breath against Dean’s face.

Again, words aren’t coming. Actually thinks he might feel fucking heat rising in his face and turns his gaze from Sam before finding something to say. “What's it look like?”

Sam dangles the small, clear and green bottle in front of Dean. He’s not sure if it’s supposed to be mocking or questioning - or both. Dean just tries to make Sam kiss him again, hoping he gets the hint. Thinks he already has, thinks his brother is just being difficult. Sam pulls back enough that Dean can’t reach his mouth, shakes the bottle a little.

“What d’you want?” And Sam’s got a grin, so Dean knows he’s just being a bitch.

“C’mon,” Dean says. He urges Sam back toward him, letting chipped nails dig just that little bit harder into his brother’s skin. 

Sam’s still not relenting. Still got that shit-eating grin. “What do you want?”

“Want you to stop bitchin’.”

“And?”

He lets his hands fall back onto the bed, turns his head to look right at Sam. “Want you to stop thinking I hate you or something. Want you to know I trust you. So...” He gestures his head toward Sam’s hand.

“You want me to...make love to you?

“Jesus Christ, Sam - I didn’t say  that .”

Sam’s face softens, but there’s still the hint of that too-wide smile. “But you want me to, don’t you?”

“Want you to know that you’re the only person I’ll put first. Always.”

“Are we --?”

“This one time, Sammy - and you better know that I trust you.”

Sam’s hand runs over Dean’s face and he leans, slowly, to let them kiss again. Dean lets himself be moved upward with Sam’s hands, finds it weird at first but soon he’s okay. Being held by Sam, being moved by him. Opens his eyes every time it’s strange, takes in his brother’s face, and everything’s okay again. There’s the click of the bottle’s lid and Dean tries not to let himself tense. It doesn’t matter, even that slight change of pace and Sam picks up on it.

“We don’t --”

“I think we do.”

Sam’s looking down at him and Dean just wishes he’d hurry up and do something. Brings Sam back against him, and makes sure his leg is positioned  right there  so Sam’s dick is pressed against it. Can’t help the smile that comes when Sam groans into his shoulder.

“We gonna do this, baby boy?” Dean murmurs into his brother’s soft hair. Once the words are out, he’s not actually sure if they’re meant for Sam - or for himself.

Sam repositions, sliding down Dean’s body and now it’s Dean’s turn to groan when Sam’s body presses against his cock. Sam’s mouth lowers to his chest, drops wet kisses along the skin and finally down to his stomach where he stops. Dean leans up on his elbows, looks down at his brother.

“C’mon.”

Sam’s eyes flick up toward him and  fuck  is that a hot look he’s got going on there. Dean’s hand move through Sam’s hair until Sam moves up to his knees, using one hand palm-out to gently push Dean back against the bed.

“Shh,” Sam murmurs and kisses Dean once more.

When he’s sitting back up again, and Dean’s managed to maneuver himself enough to see Sam, all of Sam - perfect, perfect body - that bottle comes back into focus and Sam clicks open the lid again.

“Just this one time,” Sam says, echoing Dean’s words, “But I do trust you.”

“Know that,” Dean says, “But you don’t seem to get that  I  trust  you .”

Sam doesn’t answer, so Dean gets that he was right. Hurts like a bitch, but he pushes the feelings away. This is about Sam. Just like everything in life.  Samsamsam . The name calms him, lets the feelings fade into the background where they can come back later. Right now,  he just watches his brother.

Didn’t expect how cold it would be and bites back a gasp. Might be willing to let Sam do this, but he’s not willing to let Sam know any  weakness . Besides, it’s feeling good a second later as Sam runs fingertips over him. Sam leans down, kisses him, before Dean arches up into his touch. Done this to Sam, plenty of times - not lately, too fucking horny to bother with formalities - but giving and receiving are two very different things in life, and Dean’s starting to learn that. Sam leans his forehead against Dean’s and Dean’s stopped trying to hide his rasping breath. Not like Sam’s going to care, too intent on making this happening.

“C’mon,” Dean’s repeating. Isn’t sure he likes how far away his voice is sounding, but Sam doesn’t seem to notice.

Sam doesn’t  ‘c’mon’ , he seems insistent on making this play out. Drops his mouth to Dean’s neck, tiny bites breaking skin and Dean loves it. Will wear any and all of the marks his brother puts onto him. Well, if he lives past the excruciating slowness Sam’s putting into everything. Dean’s not even sure if he  wants  this -  all for Sam, all for Sam  \- but something’s going to have to happen. Soon.

“Sorry I said you didn’ trust me...” Sam mumbles against his ear as his finger moves away from Dean’s body.

“Hey, hey,” Dean warns. He looks up at Sam, takes in his eyes. “We’re doin’ this. Want you to.” Sam nods then. Bites down on his lip and Dean places a smile onto his own. Hands cup Sam’s face. “Never even had girls on top - so you should feel pretty freakin’ special.”

He releases the hold on his lip. “Always do.”

Dean brings down Sam’s face and kisses his lips, his cheek, his neck, holds himself over Sam’s pulse and feels it race. All of this for Sam, always. Everything in life, every movement, everything breath. And Dean’s never going to stop hating himself for making Sam think otherwise.

“If  you  don’t want to, we won’t,” Dean says, voice at a whisper muffled into Sam’s skin, “But I want it if you want it.”

He feels Sam nod and then move again, body sliding back against Dean’s and settling between his legs. Dean watches him, hands digging into the sheets even when nothing’s happening, just being prepared - always prepared. He’s tempted to reach out a hand, start  showing  Sam what to do, but he bites that down, grips sheets harder, and just waits. Not sure whether he’s waiting for it to be over, or waiting for it to happen.

After painful passing seconds, Dean’s dick risen high and aching, Sam uncaps the bottle again and smears more of the cold lube - and Dean’s still saying nothing, still holding in assault-on-senses gasps - against him. Sam’s hands trail against Dean’s sides, softly ebbing into the gap below his ribs and hips. Captures his eyes and Dean’s just thinking  finally  as Sam thrusts toward him. He’s slow, but that gasp - hiss, whatever it is - Dean’s been trying to keep under wraps is thrown from his mouth.

“Dean --”

Dean shakes his head, hands unwrapping themselves from the sheets and moving around Sam’s back. His fingers lace together and he’s holding, tight, keeping Sam there and attempting to adjust to the foreign sensation. It’s not  bad \- would never say that about anything him and Sam did together, much less sex - but it’s strange, and right now he’s much happier to focus on Sam’s upper body which continues to rub against him with each slow, small thrust.

“ Relax , Dean,” Sam says and kisses against his neck and shoulder.

He’s  trying . Tries harder, takes in a breath and lets it out slowly. Keens Sam’s face back toward him and kisses him, deepens and lengthens it until he’s letting out another sound he can’t hold back. This one is definitely better, a sensation deep inside that Sam keeps swiping across  perfectly  every time he moves. But it’s too slow. Dean urges him with his hands, pulls against Sam’s back until the rhythm picks up and Dean’s not sure what he’s saying amidst it all, only there’s some lack of form in words and his mouth can’t seem to close against Sam’s.

“Fuck, Dean --” Even if he can’t hear his own words, he hears Sam’s. Murmuring and perfect against his lips and ear, trailing across as Sam proceeds to kiss all he can reach. “S’good, feel good?”

Dean thinks all he can do is nod. All the discomfort has gone, or at least evolved and altered into something akin to pressure. But it’s  good  pressure, building not only inside but also along his cock. He reaches out a hand and wraps it around himself, head being thrown back in the process and teeth reaching out to bite his bottom lip.

“God, Dean --” Sam’s right by his ear, lips continuously pressing against his cheek, hs lobe, his neck. “Love you. S’perfect.”

Sam’s movement slows, and this time Dean can go with it. Slow, long strokes that hit him in the perfect places each time. His hands stay around Sam’s back, but he lets them unclench from one another and roam, leading Sam in movement, in rhythm. He lets himself find Sam’s gaze, kisses him again, and now he’s trusting his voice enough to say: “Always you, Sammy.”

That seems to do it. Sam speeds up, thrusts hard into him once, twice, three times...and then holds against Dean’s body, a low moan that may or may not vaguely resemble the word  Dean  reaching his ears, his whole everything. Just them. The next second he’s aware of Sam twisting a hand around his cock. It’s still foreign. Not the handjob, no, Sam’s fucking  pro  at those, but the fact he’s on his back, Sam’s cock still in his ass, and the mixture of everything is just strange and amazing all mixed into one, single action of Sam stroking his dick.

Then it’s his turn to be hit with a moan he can’t hold back, and he comes against the touch of Sam. His own hands are back to digging into sheets and his lower body arches up toward Sam. He probably mumbles out a  Sammy  or something before letting himself be lowered to the bed again. Sam moves from him, and Dean’s aware of that odd sensation which soon dissipates as Sam wanders up his body, dropping kisses to his chest, his neck, up to his chin, and finally settling to merge with his lips. Sam shifts and Dean rolls to his side, and he’s trying not to consider how fucking  girly  this has become because their toes are touching and Sam’s got a leg between his knees.

“What’d you think?” Sam asks, breathless.

Dean shrugs and laces a hand under his head, props himself up on one elbow. “You liked it.” Not a question, a statement. Knows he did, because there’s still heavy breathing and Sam seems permanently latched to his body, hands and lips and legs touching all places they can reach. Dean lets him.

Sam grins. “Uh - yeah. Different -  good  different. But you?”

He’s not actually sure what to say. Not even sure words exist - at least in his limited, fuck it all vocabulary - to answer. Different works, he sticks with that. Then adds: “Do you get that I trust you now?”

Sam looks at him for what feels like forever, and there’s nothing he can read. Just eyes and matted hair across his forehead. Dean’s tempted to reach out and smooth it, but Sam’s foot pressing against his just reminds him of just how many chick-flick movies they’re reenacting and he keeps his hands down. Finally, finally his brother is saying: “Knew you trusted me back at the church.”

“Really?” 

Sam’s said it, and he usually takes Sam at his word, but there’s something...something different. All of it, it was like years worth of pain, the accumulation of everything, finally torn out into the open three days ago. So now he’s not sure. Not sure about anything.

“Yeah.” Sam moves closer, and Dean’s forgotten about all the touching, used to it now. “You’re my brother and...whatever else there is...You’ve died for me, saved my life over and over. Everything I ask for you’ve done it. I don’t know why I said what I did back there.” He pauses, clears his throat. “Of course I know you trust me. More than anyone.”

Now it’s Dean’s turn to move closer to his brother. Lets himself smooth out those little pieces of stray hair. He ignores that the two of them are covered in sweat and breathing hard, slick against each other. It’s easy to ignore all these things, easy to ignore everything so long as it’s not weighing on Sam like heavy bricks. Sam feels relaxed beneath his hands, everything gone away. Light beneath his fingers, breathing even sounds clear. It’s all Dean wanted from this. All Dean’s ever wanted.

“I’ll always trust you, little brother. Always.”


End file.
